


What different feels like.

by hidinginmyroom



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Depression, I'm not even sure what this is, Social Anxiety, mentions of self harm, tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 01:02:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidinginmyroom/pseuds/hidinginmyroom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry just never wanted to be different from everybody else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What different feels like.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even sure what this is, I'm having a bad day and my feelings about my own therapy sessions just need to be let out someway.

Somehow things had become even worse than they had ever been before, and Harry had no idea how this could have happened. Everything had been good and he had been doing better. Things had started to make sense again and he had almost felt like caring for things. Not all things, but some. Like it was no longer just people in books and movies that made him care. He had actually started to care about the people around him. People started to matter again and he didn’t have to force himself to care, or well pretend to care. 

Like his mom, who was so alone now that his sister moved out and he who never even talked to her. He had actually tried to be nice and get more out of his room. He had spent time in the living room with her, smiling when she talked to him. Still not talking. He couldn’t handle talking, but she understood that. He never managed talking, but he had smiled at her and nodded a few times when she asked questions.

Sometimes he had even smiled at his old friends at school, not talking to them either, but he smiled to them and that was a really big step. He hadn’t talked to anybody in over a year; he hadn’t talked in a year. There was no reason for him to talk; nobody cared what he had to say anyways. 

His mother begged him to talk, to just say something. But he couldn’t do that. Words were difficult and he didn’t understand why anybody would want to listen to what he had to say anyway. There were nothing for him to say, there was no way words could do anything better. Words wouldn’t help him, they never done anything good for him before. Why should they now? People used words as a weapon and Harry refused to be a part of that. 

He had been going to therapy for almost a year and he was still not going anywhere, it was just another ting to make his days worse. Just one more way for him to have to face all the problems he rather just ignore and pretend wasn’t even there at all. Harry didn’t want to talk and he didn’t want to listen to what his therapist had to say about his problems, he really didn’t care anyway. Caring hurt too much and feelings were difficult. Also he was to scared to talk, to say what was on his mind. To afraid that if he started talking he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Then he would tell whoever was unlucky enough to be there all the bad thins, all the things that scared him when they shouldn’t, and how sad and empty he felt all of the times. Helpless and alone, always to scared to ask for help.

There were so many times he had wanted to talk, to tell his mom, therapist or just anybody about what was wrong. He wanted to talk, to ask for help, but he couldn’t, because he was to scared. 

It wasn’t actually a fear of talking, because Harry loved to talk. More than anything in the world, he couldn’t never keep quite before, always talking about nothing and everything at the same time. It didn’t matter what it was or whom he was talking to, because he just wanted someone to listen and have conversations about nothing. 

And as much as he loved to talk, he loved to listen. To hear all the things that was on a persons mind and get to know then through their words and the feelings that lies behind them. He just loved getting to know people and see how they saw all the things in the world.

The more he talked and the more he listen he got the understanding of how most people were different form him. Because they didn’t see the world in any way like him, they didn’t always care about other people, they didn’t care about how unfair the world is and so many of them said so many stupid and mean things that it made his chest hurt for days. 

It was all the mean and just plain horrible things people said that made him scared, of what they said or just thought about him. Because they talked bad about everybody else when they weren’t there and it made him wonder what they said about him when he wasn’t there. Was it as bad as what they said about others, or was it even worse?

Thinking made him paranoid and slowly stopped taking to everybody he meet, and he also stopped caring about everybody. People were so mean and they said bad things about everybody why should he care about people like that? At the same time he got more scared of all the things they said about him, he became terrified of people hating him or just thinking bad things about him. Why shouldn’t they think bad things about him?

He got scared of doing things in public, and he got to scared to talk. To afraid of people laughing of him. Terrified of failing, and of not being perfect. He didn’t understand what was going on, because he never before had been scared of anything, or he had realised that he had always been a little scared of being different, of not being like everybody else. The reason why he used to love talking to people about how they saw the world, he just wanted to know if he was like everybody else.

He had tried to stop, to force himself to talk to people again. It worked for a while; it made his mother happy and even as miserable it made him it was worth making his mom happy. It went well for a couple weeks but then everything went to hell again. That was a year ago, and the reason things had gotten worse again were the one thing that Harry would never ever talk about even if he started to talk again.

It had been something he had never thought he would do himself, he knew people did it, and it broke his heart every time he saw somebody do it. He had been having a terrible day and when he saw that girl with the tearful eyes and hidden arms in the heat he had known right away. He wanted to talk to her but he was to scared and it made him so mad, because he waned to help, he wanted to tell her she wasn’t alone. He couldn’t do it and it made him feel even worse and the only thing going through his mind was why the fuck not ?   
After the first time he felt like he had broken himself for good and that he could never get better. It made things much worse, but at the same time a little better. Even if he hated to admit that. He didn’t talk but he wasn’t always terrified of everything anymore. Most of the time, yes, but sometimes after hurting himself he wasn’t and it made him feel better.

But he had been clean a month, and he had started to smile again and thing were going better. Hadn’t it been for the stupid therapist, she made things even worse. She was supposed to make thins better, but she was only making things worse than ever. It wasn’t her fault, it was he that couldn’t handle her saying the things he tried so hard o avoid out loud. It wasn’t like he didn’t already know, he had known for longer than he would admit to himself, because the truth hurts and he didn’t want to feel all the bad things.

It was just simple words, or not simple, but they were just words. He already knew but he didn’t want to hear anybody else say it, didn’t want anybody to know. And he sure as hell never ever wanted to talk about it. It was just that being diagnosed made the hope of no one ever knowing impossible, and he just didn’t want his mom to know. She would hurt and he really didn’t want that. 

Hearing the therapist tell him he had social anxiety and depression broke him down, he had never wanted to hear the words out loud. He never wanted anybody to confirm the things he already knew. Harry just never wanted anybody to know there was something wrong with him, he just wanted to be like everybody else.


End file.
